The Warlord's Path: Samair in Argos: Book 6

by Michael Kotcher

  He chittered in satisfaction as the missiles were quickly neutralized and a few seconds later, one of the gunships blew apart as it flew straight into one of the turbolaser blasts. The rest of the tiny ships swooped around and fired each of their single laser cannons at Gawilghur’s portside aft. One of the corvettes, Zorak, swung around behind the gunboats, her own cannons blazing.

  “Good move, Zorak,” V’ka’sith crowed. “Guns, knock the other gunboats down.”

  ((--[][]--))

  Hestian smiled as a precise hit from his gunners slapped aside cutter 2, breaching its shields and sending it off in an uncontrolled roll away from the battle. Missiles raced up from the launchers on the surface of the asteroid, but hardly the blizzard of ordnance the ship had weathered back in Seylonique. “Seventeen missiles inbound,” the tactical officer called. “Ready with point defense.”

  “Take them out,” Hestian ordered calmly. “Then destroy the launch sites.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  ((--[][]--))

  Keeping the engine pointed in the direction of the enemy frigate was difficult enough, Stryx marveled. Keeping hold of it was even more difficult, as it bucked and swerved, as the Secaaran tried desperately to control the cylindrical beast. Doing both with three massive Secaarans clung desperately to the device was an even greater challenge.

  Thankfully, none of the Baron Death ships had noticed the trio of Secaarans zipping across space toward the frigate. The cylindrical thruster was moving them at the target at a ferocious velocity, but thankfully, none of the siblings was torn loose.

  “Going too fast,” Cromm called over the headbag’s short range comms.

  He was right, Stryx realized. At this rate of speed, they’d catch the frigate in under two minutes, but they’d slam into the ship’s hull at full speed. To that end, the youngest Secaaran reduced the speed of the device down to ten percent thrust. The time to target increased to almost ten minutes, assuming the frigate did not change her own course or speed drastically.

  “We’re going to slow down soon,” Stryx told them. “In one minute.”

  “How?” Dragga demanded, more than willing to be done with this fool’s errand. She wasn’t afraid, not that she would admit, but dying in battle was far preferable to dying in the vacuum of space due to this folly.

  Stryx ignored her, twisting a knob on the small control panel on the thruster, and the engine cut out, killing their acceleration. He jabbed at two more controls, which activated the small maneuvering jets on the ends of the booster flipping the device end for end. Once it was pointed the other way, Stryx nodded to his sibling and then activated the thruster, this time to brake their velocity. All three nearly lost their grip on the handles as it tried to jerk away.

  It was then, as they were less than one hundred meters from the frigate, as it changed course to starboard, coincidentally right into the haphazard vector of the Secaaran boarding party that a worrisome thought struck the youngest sibling. How will we get through the pirate vessel’s energy shields? In the haste to get out there and fight, they hadn’t even considered that rather potent obstacle.

  The answer came a few seconds later, as they were ten seconds from hitting the hull, or rather, the shields. A volley of turbolasers slammed into the shields amidships, causing them to go completely white and opaque, but only for a second before they collapsed and damage sparkled across the portside hull. This was fortunate indeed as three seconds later, the siblings sailed right through to crash with bone-shattering force into a place with an intact hull. They hit as a group, with Cromm on the bottom of the pile and they could all hear him grunt over the short range comms. The vacuum surrounding them, however, erased any sounds of what might have happened.

  Stryx’s hand gripped a blocky flap of the hull, nearly tearing his arm from the socket as he bounced from the hull. Releasing the booster, his hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around the haft of Dragga’s hammer down by her legs. The straps strained but held. Pulling hard, he yanked her close and she, too, grabbed the hull, holding fast. She started rifling through her bag, pulling out devices to hook onto their feet to magnetize them to the hull.

  But while she was doing that, Cromm sailed past. He’d bounced from the hull, lost his grip on the booster in the crash and floated away before Stryx could catch him. He watched as his brother tumbled away from the frigate, his left arm and leg flailing helplessly.

  “Cromm!” Stryx shouted over the comms, and Dragga looked up from what she was doing, but it was far too late. He was drifting further and further from the hull of the warship, and they had nothing to try and grab him with. The booster was gone as well, lost in the void and too far for anyone, even Cromm, to try and grab.

  Stryx watched his brother tumble away, then pounded on the hull of the ship with his free hand. “We can’t save him.”

  Dragga only nodded. “We need to get inside. Put these on,” she ordered, handing him a pair of the foot braces. Awkwardly, the two strapped them on, forced to use only one hand until they could anchor themselves to the hull plating. Moments later, they were moving. Stryx made one last glance over his shoulder to the dwindling speck that was his brother, then turned away, trudging over the hull to the closest open spot on the hull.

  From her bag, Dragga produced her final item, a plasma cutter. It wasn’t a massive one or one that could cut through the hull like it was tissue paper, but it would do the job. She knew this because, on one of the previous boarding actions, one of Vok’s demolition specialists had shown her how to use it to cut a hole through interior bulkheads. To her mind, the interior bulkheads were made of metal; the outer hull was made of metal. Therefore it would work. She set to the task.

  Stryx watched with growing frustration as his sister cut a hole in the hull. Her plan to get through was working, but it was taking forever. His frustration mounted as a strange pain in his chest hit him every time his thoughts strayed to his lost brother. But finally, Dragga rose to her feet, brought her hammer up and slammed it into the metal. A second hit and the section fell inward, then blasted out as the atmosphere inside rushed out of the new hole. Narrowly avoiding being swept away with their new door, the two Secaarans leaped inside, stumbling and nearly falling as they were suddenly within the ship’s artificial gravity field instead of the microgravity of the outside.

  Rushing to the door, Stryx brought his morningstar to hand, his shield in the other. Dragga raised her hammer and swung with all her might, aiming for the spot just to the side of the control pad. The tungsten carbide war hammer smashed the metal of the door, buckling it inward. Air rushed out of the hole, but the Secaarans grabbed the bulkheads and held on, their magnetized feet securing them to the deck. Dragga went to the door, grabbing the metal and shoved it to the side. Clomping heavily on the deck, pulling his way forward, Stryx got through the portal, his sister just behind. The two of them yanked the tortured door back into place, and with another hammerblow, the metal was battered back roughly to cover the doorway. Air still leaked out, but only a trickle.

  “Teams can fix it later. Move!” Dragga shouted over the comms. They made it into the next compartment before the emergency bulkheads were closed, though neither of them could understand why it had taken the crew so long. Then with a shake of the head, the matter was forgotten. Both of them thumped their feet on the deck a few times, and with a shriek of, “CRUSH!!!” they charged deeper into the ship, weapons brandished. They went to find crewmembers to deal with, to secure this ship for their Commander.

  The pirates, while no slouches when it came to fighting, were thrown back in utter fear by the ferocity. Armed only with needlers and low-velocity rounds, the few defenders they encountered at first were shocked when their weapons had little effect on the monstrous invaders. Terrifying battle roars echoed through the corridors as the Secaarans rushed them and smashed the crewmen to bloody pulps.

  Their blood was up, and now the enemies’ blood was spilled. The two rocky-skinned warriors took out their ra
ge on any crewmen they could find.

  ((--[][]--))

  Cromm’s panic had subsided. The enemy frigate was falling farther and farther away, so far now that he could no longer see his siblings. It didn’t matter. He’d be dead in a few hours, and they would be victorious. It was sad, really. This was the first time that the three of them would not be fighting together, in the whole of their personal history. Oh, they might get separated in battle, but they would always be in the same battle together. But now, things would be forever different.

  His left arm pained him greatly. The impact with the frigate and the added mass of his siblings landing atop him had actually broken the dense bone beneath, something that had never happened before. He sighed to himself. Too many unknown things had happened this day, bad things. This had been a bad plan. It had never occurred to him that the invincible trio could fail at anything, or be hurt by anyone. This brought a chuckle to his lips, quickly stifled. It had been their own foolishness and the weight of their own bodies which had caused it. He stared off into the blackness filled with stars and waited for death. He had no desire to find it, or else he would have torn the head bag off and suffocated, but he knew it was inevitable.

  A bright light suddenly flared into his face, causing him to squint. He raised his right arm to shield his face. What is this?

  His short range comm came to life. “This is War Leader Vok. Cromm, you great idiot, what the hell happened? No, never mind. Hold still; we’re coming to pick you up. Hang tight.”

  Cromm didn’t understand; he couldn’t see. How was the War Leader contacting him? He closed his eyes. It didn’t matter. He’d be dead soon anyway.

  His strange hope was never realized. A minute later, he could feel himself being tugged by some invisible hand. He opened his eyes and saw he was being pulled inside of one of the assault shuttles. Ah, he’s a clever one. Maybe we should have thought to use one of those.

  Once in the rear bay of the shuttle, he was grabbed by various soldiers wearing headbags. He recognized them immediately, members of Unruk platoon. One of the zheen, Hekirk, waved a scanner over him. “Skizt! The big guy actually has a broken arm!” he exclaimed. “Does it hurt?”

  Cromm eyed the bug angrily. “Yes, it hurts, bug. Never felt pain like this.”

  They all stopped and looked at him. “Never?”

  “No,” the Secaaran groaned. “I’m the one who does the hurting. Can you fix my arm?”

  The zheen chittered. “No, we’d have to get you back to the ship.”

  “No. I’ve seen people get their broken limbs tied to something. Do that for me,” Cromm told him. “We have to help my family.”

  “Do it, Hekirk,” Vok ordered. He came to stand near to his recovered soldier. “Glad to have you back, Cromm. Don’t do anything this stupid again.”

  “Glad you managed to figure out what we were doing, War Leader,” Cromm said, wincing as the makeshift corpsman lashed his arm to a metal bar with duct tape.

  “You’ll have to leave that axe,” Vok told him. “Won’t be able to wield it properly with only one hand.”

  Cromm looked crestfallen. “That axe has been with me through every battle I’ve ever fought in.”

  “Well, either it stays in your hand, and you stay here on the shuttle,” Vok said, giving him a choice, “Or you can use this and come and fight.” He held up a one-handed boarding axe. It was a tiny weapon by comparison to his massive war axe, but this was no choice at all. He reached out and with help, untied his primary weapon; then he took the axe from the War Leader’s outstretched hand.

  “How long until we get there?” Cromm asked, awkwardly getting to his feet.

  “Right now,” Vok said, amused, waving his antennae and activating his breather. “We’re moving up to dock now. So get ready.”

  Cromm turned away from the War Leader toward the main hatch. Hope you saved a few for me, he silently prayed to his siblings.

  ((--[][]--))

  “One gunboat left, Commander,” Grokk said from tactical.

  “Good,” V’ka’sith replied. “This has gone on too long. Shoot it down. Then bring us in range of those freighters. I want to capture them all.” Kenso’rai was doing an admirable job of keeping the four freighters corralled, but without firing into them, the small warship had no way of truly forcing a surrender. V’ka’sith wanted those ships.

  That gunboat, that last, stalwart defender of the system, turned and attacked the light cruiser.

  “He’s moving to attack,” Grokk said in confusion.

  “Another slashing move?” V’ka’sith asked, not all that impressed.

  Grokk’s mouthparts were writhing. “No, Commander. He’s coming straight at us.”

  “Good,” the commander said, tapping one blunt finger on the arm of his seat. “That should make things easier. Get rid of that nuisance!”

  The gunboat bobbed and weaved, somehow managing to just barely avoid taking hits, right up until it was within less than a kilometer from the cruiser. One of the broadside lasers clipped the side of the ship and splintered. The pieces of the small ship, still moving at immense velocity, slammed into the starboard side of Gawilghur, breaching the shields and lightly armored hull beneath. The whole ship rocked from the hit.

  “Damage report!” V’ka’sith yelled over the blaring alarms.

  The Geckon seated at damage control hissed to himself. “Hull breach, covering decks 2, 3 and 4! Sealing off the breaches now. Casualty reports are coming in. Eight dead so far, more than a dozen wounded reported. Rerouting power conduits.”

  V’ka’sith checked his display; he saw the red damage markers on the starboard flashing and the oval surrounding the ship denoting the shields was flashing as well. After a few seconds, the oval firmed up, showing that it was now, once again, covering the whole ship. Hissing in rage, he pounded the arm of the seat. “Tactical!” he barked. “What is the status of the battle?”

  “Gunboats are down; the cutters are destroyed. Only warship remaining is the frigate, but the assault shuttle has just docked,” Grokk replied. “Kenso’rai is bottling up the freighters, and most of the weapons on the asteroid are dead.”

  V’ka’sith considered things for all of a second. “Bring us over the asteroid and level the rest. And hail the freighters. I’ll be happy to receive their surrenders. And prep shuttles for boarding parties on those freighters. Comms, coordinate with Ganges.”

  “Incoming message from Ganges, Commander,” the comms officer reported. “It says to continue with the capture. Ganges is sending the rest of their troops over to the frigate to finish their work there. Once they’re done with that, and if there’s anything left, then they’ll assist with pounding the base flat.”

  “Acknowledged,” V’ka’sith replied. “Tactical, carry out my orders.”

  ((--[][]--))

  “The demons are coming!” the pale-faced human cried as the horrific roars and screams echoed through the corridors of the freighters.

  Ragnoss, the self-styled Baron Death, and captain of the frigate Seplezuur, turned and backhanded the whiny cur with one scaly fist. The man crashed against the bridge bulkhead and slid to the deck, his skull crushed, blood painting the metal. “Coward!” he raged. He drew the heavy pistol from the holster on his hip. The fight in space had not gone well. The damned light cruiser pummeled his ship any time he tried to attack, and any time he tried to run. He’d hoped for better from the rest of his fleet, but the incompetents had failed on every score, all but one, anyway. The gunboat driver that had crashed into the other light cruiser had done a good job of damaging her, but it hadn’t been enough. It had been too little, too late.

  And through all of this, a thrice-damned boarding party had slipped aboard and was slaughtering his crew! No longer. “You three, come with me!” he shouted to the remaining bridge crew. They had needlers and he had his heavy pistol; it would have to be enough.

  Finding the source of the disruption proved easy: all they had to do was follow the sc
reams and the shouting. Rushing around a corner, they found who they were looking for. A pair of Secaarans of all things, fighting with primitive melee weapons and butchering his men. With a shriek of anger, the Geckon started shooting, and the three behind him did the same. One of them, the smaller of the two, ducked behind a shield and the shots pranged off the metal. The other gave a roar that shook the bulkheads, took half a dozen needles to the chest, which it just shrugged off, and then charged. The Baron dove forward as the massive war hammer whistled over his head. He hit the deck, rolled and fired again, shooting the huge Secarran in the back.

  This time, the shots proved effective. The heavy bullets penetrated the creature’s rocky back and a yellow bile came from the wounds. The creature smashed one of the three bridge operators to a bloody pulp against the bulkhead with that hammer strike, then thrust forward with the head and caught one other under the chin. The third took a hit directly between the legs, causing him to screech in agony. The strike lifted him off the ground, and he pitched backward. He didn’t agonize long as the hammer came down and crushed his chest.

  The Baron rolled to the side again, firing two more shots into the thing’s back, and this time it seemed to notice the injuries. It didn’t scream, it gasped, and to Ragnoss’s utmost surprise, it actually went down to one knee, the shirt on its back stained with more of the bile.

  That was when he heard the second of the Secaarans behind him. He heard the rattle of a chain, and he swiftly kicked himself up, flipping to a standing position. He whirled and pointed his weapon, but he was a fraction of a second too late. The spiked ball of the morningstar struck him in the forearm, knocking his arm to the side and his gun from his hand. It clattered to the bulkhead noisily. Not waiting for another blow, Ragnoss charged, hurling himself at the Secarran, slashing with the claws on his uninjured hand and snapping with his fearsome teeth.